Had gone to his nose, which was rather unfortunate.
"St. Stephen's requires me, and I," so he blustered,
"Must needs be a Member, since friends are importunate.

"But I'd rather," he added, "go six times to Holloway"
(Will not language like this of J.B. make _The Star_ lament?)
"Than go (which is dirt) to St. Stephen's, or loll away
My time and the People's as Member of Parliament."

Now, Burns, be advised; that is bunkum--you know it.
You "_must_ be a Member"? Pooh, pooh, John, I doubt you.
Short answers are best, so _Punch_ answers you, "Stow it.
Stay away, and we'll try for salvation without you."

There's no "must" in the matter. The goose, John, who flaps his
Vain wings, though at first very fearful he may be,
If you face him at once, why, he promptly collapses;
He may hiss as he runs, he won't frighten a baby.

Be warned in good time--why there isn't a man, Sir,
Or at most one or two, whom the universe misses.
You strut for a moment, and then, like poor _Anser_,
You vanish, uncared-for, with splutter and hisses.

If a man cares to toil, if, like Broadhurst or Burt, he
Puts his neck to the yoke for the good of his fellows,
He will find work to do (though you scorn it as dirty),
Without all this labour of trumpet and bellows.

Surely butter must cloy, though your friends do the churning--